


Age Certain

by Sigmund



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5765515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigmund/pseuds/Sigmund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was this long ago prompt and of course I can't find it.  How old is d'Artagnan?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Age Certain

**Author's Note:**

> First, as always, if you gave me kudos on another story, thank you so much! Secondly, this is just short piece of fluff. Constance and d'Artagnan are not in a romantic relationship as you will discover if you read. AZ Girl kindly betaed the story, and any errors are mine and solely mine.

 

“What are you doing?” Porthos asked as he sat at the table watching d’Artagnan with his shirt in his hand, tongue stuck out and sewing needle at the ready.

The material curled up and the younger man let out a sigh of frustration as he gained an audience with Athos and Aramis joining Porthos at the table. “Letting out the cuffs of my shirt.”

“What? Have you grown?” Aramis chuckled, standing over d’Artagnan’s shoulder.

D’Artagnan maneuvered the cuff and made a stitch. “Maybe? My boots are tight, but they will have to wait.”

Porthos cocked an eyebrow. “How is that possible? You’re a grown lad of twenty-two.”

The younger man did not look up from his sewing. “I’m not twenty-two.”

It was as if it was a challenge. Aramis rubbed his chin. “Twenty-three?”

D’Artagnan shook his head.

Porthos picked up the challenge. He was a gambling man. “Twenty-one.”

This time the new Musketeer stopped sewing and looked up.

Athos was next, curiosity brewing. “Nineteen.”

D’Artagnan shook his head. “I’m sixteen. I’ll be seventeen in three months.” He beamed with pride at having an upcoming birthday.

Aramis sputtered, “Sixteen. Very funny joke.”

Athos narrowed his eyes. “When were you born?”

Porthos listened to d’Artagnan’s answer. “That would make you…” He paused as he calculated age. “Sixteen.”

D’Artagnan nodded. “Yes. I guess I still have some growing to do.” He returned to sewing, having not gotten very far.

Over the teen’s head Athos looked at Aramis and Porthos. “Does Tréville know?”

“I think so. Why?”

Porthos whistled. “That’s young for the Musketeers.”

This brought d’Artagnan’s attention once more. “So? I earned it. I beat Labarge.” He pushed the shirt aside and went to stand up.

Porthos placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Calm down. No one is going to take your pauldron from you.”

“We assumed you were older.” Aramis’s explanation was an understatement.

Athos rubbed his chin. “Did you mention needing boots?”

D’Artagnan shook out his shirt. “I can’t afford them just yet.”

Aramis lifted d’Artagnan’s arm up to force him to stand. “Let’s speak to Monsieur Roquelle. He likes Musketeers.”

Porthos leveled a look at Athos. “I’m coming. Can’t trust Aramis to pick out sturdy boots.”

Athos nodded. “I’ll be along.” He watched them leave the garrison, and then went up the stairs to talk to the Captain. Knocking once, he was given permission to enter. “Did you know d’Artagnan was only sixteen?”

Treville was writing. “Only sixteen when what?”

Athos groaned internally at the miscommunication and proof that the Captain had no idea. “Now. He is only sixteen years of age now.”

The Captain dropped his pen, swore under his breath when the ink blot grew. He moved it out of the way. “He’s a child. That’s impossible.”

“Must be the youngest Musketeer ever.” Athos relaxed his stance as the Captain moved to pour a drink.

“Athos, I can’t have a boy as a Musketeer.” Treville leaned against the front of his desk.

This was d’Artagnan’s fear, and Athos would not allow it to be realized. “He’s not a boy. He’s proved himself. He’s commissioned.”

Treville sipped his drink. “We’ll keep this between ourselves.”

Athos finished his own drink. “What about the King?”

The captain collected his glass. “We say nothing. The King will not notice.”

(())

The King may have not noticed that d’Artagnan was younger than he seemed, but the teen definitely noticed he was being treated differently. On a mission outside of Paris, they were unable to find a place to stay before it turned too dark to continue traveling. As usual, he was sent to collect firewood and fill the water skins, but where he used to go alone, he now had company.

Porthos was sticking close, checking the area, and then pushing d’Artagnan aside when he hears an animal in the woods nearby. D’Artagnan huffed as he tucked the branches under one arm while he slung two of the water skins over his shoulder.

When they returned to the campsite, d’Artagnan deposited the branches by the small fire and set the water skins to the side. “Something is going on, and I’d like to know what it is.”

Athos paused from setting out his roll. “As the newest Musketeer-“

D’Artagnan shook his head. “It’s not that. I don’t mind getting the firewood, water and taking care of the horses-“

“Good to know,” Aramis added.

“But, now I’m being followed and you’re watching me _all_ the time.” D’Artagnan crossed his arms showing he was stubborn and waiting for an answer.

Porthos cleared his throat. “We want to make sure you’re doing things right. Don’t want you to form bad habits.”

“That’s not it.” D’Artagnan kicked at the dirt with his new boots. Their reaction to his age had been surprise. They had not known his true age and guessed older. The boots were made of supple leather with a reinforced sole. Monsieur Roquelle had given him a very low price, which made the teen suspicious that his Musketeer brothers were involved. Soon after Constance had sent him a shirt that a customer had never picked up. They were watching over him, making sure his needs were met, like his father had done. “You thought I was older.”

“You are the youngest Musketeer,” Athos replied without confirming what d’Artagnan believed was the problem.

“And you do not believe that I should be a Musketeer. You think I’m too young.” D’Artagnan tried to control his voice so the despair did not leak through.

Athos moved next to the young man to grip his shoulder. “You’re a Musketeer. No one can take that away from you.”

“Except for the King,” Aramis interjected, then silenced once more when d’Artagnan glared at him.

“We are concerned,” Athos started.

“And overprotective.” Porthos shrugged because he was not going to apologize to the treatment.

“You think I’m a child. “ For d’Artagnan it was very simple. “Just treat me like I’m twenty.”

Aramis took his hat off and tapped the chapeau on his leg. “Easier said than done.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do? I will be seventeen soon.”

Athos put his hands up, then gestured for them to sit, warm themselves by the fire and eat. Once settled Athos continued. “You may not want to hear this, but knowing your true age makes us feel responsible for you.”

Porthos chewed the salted pork. “Like a little brother.”

“I’m not little.” D’Artagnan was offended. He was taller than both Athos and Aramis. Perhaps he would even be taller than Porthos eventually, but probably never as muscular.

“You’re a work in progress.” Aramis’s grin was caught in the firelight. “You had to have known?”

D’Artagnan was never asked his age outright. Didn’t see it as a hindrance or an issue. “Not really. I grew up on a farm. You have to work from when you’re young.”

For a moment there was just the sound of the fire crackling and the small animals skirting around in the distance away from the flames.

“We will try to treat you as you should as a Musketeer,” Athos finally said.

Aramis clucked his tongue so they would pay attention to him. “However, if we are a bit zealous in your safety, then you will have to understand.”

D’Artagnan nodded. It was a compromise that he could grow out of eventually. He hoped. “As long as I get to stay a Musketeer.”

(())

“He’s asleep,” Aramis announced. Although he was on first watch, he knew the others were also still awake except for d’Artagnan who was breathing evenly. “The young always sleep deeply.”

Porthos snickered. “He’s tall for his age.”

Aramis knew from growing up with ample food that it made people healthier. “Farming living agreed with him. Built him to be a strapping lad.”

“Sixteen. It’s not young,” Porthos added. He’d been on his own in the world for such a long time.

Athos shifted from resting against his saddle. “He’s not a grown man.”

“He’s not a babe either,” Aramis reminded his friend.

“Explains why he can’t grow a beard,” Porthos said with an elbow to Aramis.

Athos sighed. “He’s going to give us grey hairs.”

Aramis knew it was difficult for the older man as he had the experience of having a younger brother. “Speak for yourself. He’ll keep us young.”

“We do not need you to regress any further,” Athos retorted. “Wake d’Artagnan for the next watch.”

“Maybe we should allow him to get-“

Athos interrupted Porthos. “He’s our little brother, but he is also a Musketeer.”

Aramis nodded and decided to clean his weapons while he was on watch, though he might let d’Artagnan sleep a little more.

The end.


End file.
